'I don't know yet.'
'Do we know who the intruder was?'
'No, sir.'
He turns to one of the agents who had come down with him on the elevator.
'I want agents guarding the front door. No one in or out other than medical personnel unless I personally authorize it. Get paramedics here fast, and in the meantime, triage the wounded. I want the agents that are most confident about their first-aid skills to get cracking.'
'Yes, sir,' the agent replies, and gets into action. AD Jones watches as the agents begin to move, as chaos starts to resolve under the dual dictates of training and command.
'You okay?' he asks me, giving me a critical eye. 'You look a little gray.'
'Stress,' I reply. I reach back and feel my head where it had hit the marble floor. I'm relieved to feel just a bump and not blood. My headache is lessening, so I'm not worried about a concussion.
'We need to find out who this was, and what just happened,' he mutters.
'Yes, sir,' I reply.
He sighs in frustration and fury. 'You saw the guy?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Was he Middle Eastern?'
'No, sir. Hispanic. Late thirties, early forties, maybe.'
AD Jones curses at this.
'How the fuck did he get past security?'
'He didn't. He came through the front doors, lobbed some grenades, opened fire, and left.'
He shakes his head. 'How am I supposed to protect my people from that kind of threat?'
I don't reply. He's not really speaking to me.
'What do you want us to do, sir? Me and my team?'
He runs a hand through his hair, surveys the scene.
'Give me Alan,' he decides. 'Take Callie and follow the line on the subpoena.'
In light of the moment, I'm dumbfounded.
'But, sir . . .' I wipe my forehead again. 'Look, if you need us here, we're here.'
'No. We're not stopping what we do because of this. Screw that. We'll have video of the perp from the security cameras in the next half hour. Between the agents in the building and the team Quantico's sure to be sending, manpower is going to be the least of my worries.'
I don't reply. He scowls at me.
'I'm not asking, Smoky.'
I sigh. He's right, he's the boss, and he's pissed, an unbeatable trio.
'Yes, sir.'
'Get to it.'
I move to Callie. James is standing now, but his gaze is unfocused. He's holding a handkerchief to the wound on his head. Blood has run down his face and neck and soaked his shirt.
'It looks like someone buried a hatchet in your skull,' I say to him. He smiles, a real smile, and now I know that he's out of it.
'Just a scalp laceration,' he says, still smiling. His voice has a floaty sound to it. 'They bleed a lot.'
I look at Callie, my eyebrows raised. She shrugs.
'I tried to get him to stay seated.' She gives James a critical look. 'I have to say, I like him much better this way.'
'You know what, Red?' James says, overloud, teetering a little as he leans into Callie. 'I need you like . . . like . . . I need a hole in my head.' He cackles at this and then weaves on his feet, unsteady. Callie and I each grab an arm.
'Hey, you know what?' he says in that floaty voice, looking at me now.
'What?' I say.
'I don't feel so good.'
His legs turn into noodles and Callie and I struggle to lower him to a sitting position. He doesn't try to get back up again. His face is pale and greasy with sweat.
'He needs a doc,' I say, concerned. 'I'm guessing a bad concussion.'
On cue, the doors open, and the paramedics come rushing in, flanked by agents with their weapons out.
'Ask and ye shall receive,' Callie remarks. She leans down, pats James on the arm. 'They're coming to take you away, honey-love.'
He looks up at her, bleary-eyed. He seems more there, now, more focused. He swallows and winces.
'Good' is all he says, and he sits so that he can put his head between his knees.
'So what's the plan?' Alan asks, coming up next to us. I give him a once-over. He appears to be uninjured. There's blood on his hands, though, up to the wrists. He notices me looking.
'Young kid,' he says, his voice toneless. 'He was bleeding out from an open stomach wound. I had to reach in and pinch off the bleeder with my hands. He died.' Silence. 'So again, what's the plan?'
I find my voice. 'You're staying here at the request of AD Jones. Callie and I are going to take the subpoena and go see Gibbs.'
'Okay.'
Alan's voice sounds dull, but I realize, looking into his eyes, that he's anything but numb.
'You know,' he says, rubbing his bloody hands on his shirt, 'I can handle what we do. It's tough sometimes, especially when the victims are kids, but I can generally handle it.' He surveys the lobby, shaking his head. 'What I can't handle is this random shit.'
I touch his arm, a brief touch.
'Go,' he says. He looks down at James. 'I'll keep an eye on him.'
He doesn't want to talk anymore right now. I understand. I turn away, looking, as he had, over the destruction in the lobby. It's become a beehive of activity. I realize in surprise that I'm still holding my gun. I glance at a clock on the wall, hanging cockeyed now but still running.
Nine minutes have passed since we exited the elevator doors. I holster my gun. One last look toward Tommy, who's being administered to by the paramedics.
'Let's go,' I say to Callie.
I call Elaina first, as we rocket down the freeway. I know that what happened will be on the news soon; I'd seen the vans and choppers moving in as Callie and I drove off.
'Alan's fine, I'm fine, Callie's fine, and James is fine,' I finish.
'Maybe a little bruised, but we're fine.'
She lets her breath out, a sound of relief.
'Thank God,' she says. 'Do you want me to tell Bonnie?'
'Please.'
'Thank you for calling me, Smoky. If I'd seen it on the TV and hadn't heard from you first . . . well, that's why you called, I guess.'
'I knew Alan would be caught up in what's happening there. I didn't want you to worry. Thanks for telling Bonnie. Now I need to talk to Kirby.'
A moment later my killer for hire is on the phone. 'What's up, boss?' she says.
I explain.
'I want you to move them, Kirby. Get them away from Elaina's. Do you have a safe place you can put them?'
'Sure thing. I have some spots set aside for rainy days. Are we expecting rain?'
'I don't think so. Just being careful.'
'I'll call you when we're there.'
She hangs up. No questions, right into action. Tommy was right: Kirby was a good choice.
I have no reason to think that what just happened in the lobby is related to Sarah or The Stranger, no reason at all. But I have no reason not to think it, and these days, my terror tells me, that's a reason all its own.
